


at night (i think about you)

by wrapper



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Cheesy Confessions, Feelings in the dark, Fluff, Humour, M/M, Roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-03
Updated: 2018-03-03
Packaged: 2019-03-26 12:49:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13858116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrapper/pseuds/wrapper
Summary: “Chan, why do you care so much what time I sleep?”“Because, dearest Hansol,” Chan simpers with dead eyes, “I am your roommate and friend and I am constantly worrying about your health and well-being. Plus you've got the lights on and play on your piano the whole fucking night, which means I don't get to sleep, and because all those things take up a lot of electricity on top of it being winter and needing to blast the heating on all the time unless we want to die as ice cubes, I don't get to eat either."In which Hansol finds it amusing how determined Chan is to put him to sleep at a reasonable time.





	at night (i think about you)

**Author's Note:**

> title taken from MNEK's song of the same title.
> 
> Happy belated Snowflower day! To the Snowflower mod, thank you so much for setting this fest up and for bearing my whinings about it being late because of me hitting my biggest writer's block yet of the year. I am glad I pushed through because writing this was more fun than I thought ><. I apologise in advance for the lack of Seungkwan, I do love the good boy.

As the leaves turn a bright orange and the mercury plunges deep, Hansol finds his body clock unable to adjust to the shorter days, staying up later and later into the night until his eyelids only feel heavy with the arrival of tomorrow's sun. He had thought it was because his skin still craved the warmth of summer, a thought quickly discounted as he watches with bleary eyes his breath forming white puffs at midnight. It isn't so bad, not as bad as Chan keeps making it out to be. There's a beautiful calm to autumn nights he's never felt before; the closest feeling he can liken it to is the feeling of walking on fresh powdered snow, the sun peeking out occasionally to say hello. His mind at ease, he embraces the waves of inspiration the night brings with it and channels them to his pen, his piano, his paintbrush and whatever tool he has at his disposal.

So what then, if he has an unorthodox sleeping pattern? 

Hansol says this to Chan just as he returns from university, introspective monologue and all. Chan gives him a look halfway through the speech that shows he doesn't agree with Hansol's reasoning at all and that he won't hear the end of it (he says the last part, actually). Hansol pouts and flings himself on the couch.

“Now that all of that nonsense is out of the way,” Chan rubs his hands together, determined eyes glinting. “Tonight is gonna be the night we finally get you to bed at a respectable time! Get ready for this Hansol."

 Hansol scoffs, arms crossed across his oversized Stitch onesie.

Attempt #35 goes like this:

Friday evening, beginning of November. Chan has a midterm on Monday, but he dismisses Hansol's concern, saying that it's two days away, so he’s got plenty of time to revise half a semester’s worth of notes and can definitely sacrifice one night of sleep if it means Hansol can sleep before 2 in the morning (baby steps).

“Chan, why do you care so much what time I sleep?”

“Because, dearest Hansol,” Chan simpers with dead eyes, “I am your roommate and friend and I am constantly worrying about your health and well-being. Plus you've got the lights on and play on your piano the whole fucking night, which means I don't get to sleep, and because all those things take up a lot of electricity on top of it being winter and needing to blast the heating on all the time unless we want to die as ice cubes, I don't get to eat either."

Chan shuffles wordlessly to the kitchen, re-emerging a few moments later with a basin so large he needs to stretch his arms out to carry it, filled to the brim with water.

“Can you do a handstand?”

Hansol glances from Chan to the basin back to Chan with his face twisted in horror. Apparently, that's all Chan needs to estimate Hansol’s gymnastics skill. He proceeds to waddle across the room while carrying the basin, splashing its contents all over the floor and places it down next to an empty wall. Set-up complete, he gestures Hansol over.

“So, I've got a list here of 'science-backed' methods to fall asleep for us to try out, grabbed off of good ol' Google. But, just to speed things up a little,” he twirls and throws his arms out, a showman's gesture. "I thought, what if you combined some of these ideas together? Won't they work twice as good?"

"I guess?" Hansol can see the logic, but there's something else that's bothering him. "What's the water for then?"

"The first two ideas we're going to combine is the handstand and immersing your face in very cold water for 30 seconds. Apparently, that's supposed to soothe your heart rate or something. I know, I wouldn't have thought it either, but it's science-backed, so who are we to argue?" Chan squats down next to the basin and pushes his arms up in the air like he's trying to blow the roof off. "First, you gotta do a handstand, don't make that face, I'll hold your legs up. Then, on the count of three, you'll take a deep breath and, like, lower your head down into the basin? As if you're doing a push-up handstand. Makes sense?"

Hansol can barely do a push-up and he most certainly can't do a handstand— now Chan wants him to both? It makes perfect sense to Hansol that this is going to end in a disaster, and he hopes his expression shows that exactly. His hands are already clammy from imagining the strenuous exercise he's gonna be forced to do to achieve this supposed sleeping method. “What if we worked on your calculus homework again? You’ve got that midterm coming up, don’t you?"

“Next week’s midterm is on Linguistics and that’s gonna put ME to sleep and you on a transcendent plane nothing in this world can bring you back down, let alone to bed.” Chan sighs wistfully, shaking his head and looking out into the distance, towards the kitchen. “No, tonight, sacrifices must be made."

Chan positions himself in front of the basin, arms out, ready to carry Hansol's legs to acrobatic excellence. With weary steps, Hansol squeezes himself between the basin and Chan, placing his hands on the ground either side of the basin and sticking his bottom up in the air, ready to launch himself up. He doesn't understand which God he angered to have him land in such a compromising situation. All those times his mother egged on him to take up a sport, all chances his naive younger self had wasted for this very moment.

"On the count of three, push your legs up, okay? Don't worry about kicking me, I won't hold it against you."

Hansol sighs, unsure if that's supposed to reassure him. In any case, the faster they get through this, the faster Chan will give up on this crusade and leave Hansol alone for at least a week during midterms. With a deep breath in, Hansol shifts his weight forward and throws his legs as best as he can in the air. 

"That's it!" Chan gloats, his arms trembling slightly under the weight of Hansol's legs. "Okay, I'm gonna keep pushing your legs forward a bit so you can rest them on the wall."

Hansol can barely hear what Chan is blabbering about from the rush of blood draining to his head and pulsating like a low bass in both ears. He doesn't feel safe in Chan's arms at all— what's taking him so long to prop his legs against the wall? It hasn't been five seconds into the stunt and Hansol's spindly arms are already shaking like crazy, threatening to give way at any moment.

"Okay, Hansol, keep your legs there okay, you're doing great." (Hansol resists the urge to comment with the appropriate meme, given his precarious position.) "So, on the account of three, bend your elbows out slightly, okay, just slowly, no need to rush, okay so, one...two--"

It's at that moment Hansol's remaining arm strength depletes rapidly and he crashes head first on the edge of the basin closest to the wall. The full impact of his weight concentrated on such a small area causes the basin to tip over, splashing water all over the wall and carpet. Hansol does an awkward somersault and is left crumpled on the wet area of carpet, arms aching, massaging the sore spot on his head. He can hear Chan grumbling and then descending into a panic over how soaked the wall sockets, the very sockets he had little oversight to not place the basin next to. Frankly, Hansol could not care less. It hurts his soul to say this, because Chan is otherwise a wonderful person and means well most times, but serves him right.

Suddenly everything goes black, even though Hansol is  _pretty_ sure he hasn't lost consciousness just yet. He can hear Chan's groaning go up in a crescendo, so he's now  _very_ sure he's awake and not in some horrible nightmare where all he can hear is Chan's exasperated noises on loop. Or is that what this is? He really can't tell anymore with this concussion.

"Fuck. Our landlord's gonna evict us."

"It's not that bad." Hansol quips.

"Hansol, we just tripped the mains for our ENTIRE apartment. Possibly the ENTIRE building."

"No way. No one's stupid enough to wire all the lines for every apartment in this building together."  
  
"And yet, there are two idiots in one of those apartments who went and splashed water all over the sockets."  
  
"I love you man, but you were the one who put the basin next to the sockets."

"You were the one too weak to hold a handstand  _supported_ by another person AND a wall _."_

"In my defense, I did make that face when you suggested this, the 'I'm not athletic enough to do this' face."

Hansol hears a thud of what he believes is Chan surrendering himself to the ground. He really does feel bad about all this— part of it _is_ because of his stubbornness to not do anything about his sleeping schedule, and if he could time travel back to give his tantrum-prone sports-phobic seven-year-old self a good smack in the head, then he would. Alas, he really does like his sleeping schedule and time travel doesn't exist— so. Hansol can only try to crawl to Chan and lend him a shoulder to cry on. He's got a pretty good shoulder for that. 

"How am I gonna study for my midterms like this?"  
  
Hansol chuckles. "Now you're worried about your midterms?"  
  
"Don't mock me. I was trying to help you."

"I know." Hansol rubs circles on Chan's back."I know, and I really appreciate it, but some things are just. Meant to be just that, you know?"  
  
"Are you saying I should starve because most of my allowance is going to the fucking bills?"  
  
"Okay, I promise to turn off my lights and use my headphones to plug into the piano."  
  
Chan lets out a long sigh, burrowing his head closer to Hansol's neck, soft hair tickling his skin. Hansol only realises how close they are when he can feel Chan's heart hammering against his chest, feel Chan's cheekbone brush against his collarbone, feels something warm blooming between his ribs, something lovely and sweet, like a kinder surprise, like his strawberry shampoo in Chan's hair.  
  
"Or you could, like," Chan mutters, shrinking his body closer to Hansol, hands finding their way to the small of his back. The freezing apartment is suddenly too hot. Instead of shivers, every single hair on Hansol's skin stands rigid as Chan mumbles the rest of his sentence into the dip between his neck and his sternum. Hansol feels a little light-headed, blood pounding in his ears. It could very well be from the concussion, but Hansol really hopes otherwise.

"Sorry, Chan, I didn't catch that."

Chan's fingers grip Hansol's t-shirt tighter, bunching the fabric. Hansol  _feels_ rather than hears Chan clicking his tongue in annoyance.

"I said, you could come to my room if you can't sleep."  
  
Hansol feels himself deflate a little. "But, Channie, then you won't be able to sleep at all if I've got the lights on in your room and yammering away my poetry and music?"

"I'm already awake when you're awake anyway! God, Hansol, you really have no idea how loud you are when you're reciting. Why the fuck would you recite poetry so loud in the middle of the night?"

The warm feeling returns and Hansol has to bite the inside of his cheek to stop the grin spreading to his lips. He lets his hand find its way to the back of Chan's head, stroking his hair, giggling when Chan relaxes into Hansol's touch.  
  
"I wonder why," Hansol hums to himself, "say, Chan, what else have you got in that science-backed sleeping method list of yours?"  
  
"Why?" Hansol can tell Chan wants to sound indignant, but his voice comes out small and soft. Chan can be so cute sometimes, like the number of times he's tripped in the dark outside Hansol's bedroom when he's playing the piano at night. Hansol ignored them at first, but every time there's that thud outside his door, he always find Chan sleeping on the sofa the next morning with a pile of books suspiciously not opened. His suspicions were pretty much confirmed when he heard Chan humming some of the songs he composed while preparing breakfast. Hansol decided to do a little experiment then.  
  
"Since reciting love poems to your crush in the middle of the night didn't seem to work, I was just wondering if there's anything about sleeping in a different bed with said crush?"

Chan pulls away from Hansol's arms, more out of surprise than reluctance, Hansol knows. Nevertheless, Hansol instinctively reaches out in the dark for Chan's hand, interlocking their fingers together.

"Jesus Christ Hansol, is that what you call a confession?" Hansol can barely see Chan's figure in the dark, let alone see what Chan's expression is, but there's no malice in his tone, nothing that would make Hansol want to backtrack his, admittedly terribly cheesy confession. Instead, he stretches out his other arm to find Chan's other hand, pulling him closer until the only thing his senses can detect is Chan's warm breath against his cheek. Hansol turns his head and moves forward blind, trusting he'll find Chan's lips all the same.  
  


 

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally supposed to be longer and not a Chansol and posted really incredibly late, but my brain short-circuited somewhere, probably from how many drafts I went through for Snowflower and just Needing to finish Something. I had Verkwan and Chankwan in the decks in the beginning, but life is full of surprises and, well. Here we are! Sorry if the progression made absolutely no sense >< Thank you so much for reading this, I hope you enjoyed it ;;;
> 
> If you're curious where I got these sleeping method ideas from https://www.huffingtonpost.com/entry/15-ways-to-fall-asleep-faster_us_55dde3e7e4b04ae497054470


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